


Interviews with Variously Honest Subjects

by deadlybride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-narrative, Romantic Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Sam and Dean answer a series of questions about their relationship, and are mysteriously forthcoming.





	Interviews with Variously Honest Subjects

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a series of romance asks on Tumblr, which I answered in character as Sam or Dean (or both) depending on the asker's preference. Assume established relationship, and also assume that for some reason they're mostly willing to actually talk to this interviewer. Backing up here so that I can find them again in the future.

 

**Love letter: dream travel destination for you and your partner?**

SAM:  _Sometimes I feel like all we do is travel, you know? Now, with the bunker, after we’re done with a job it feels good to go home. But—let’s say we actually had time off, couldn’t find a job. Really got some time off to relax. I’d go to the Grand Canyon. We went once, when we were little, but neither of us remember it all that well. It’s kind of weird that with all the places we’ve gone all over the country we haven’t made it back. I’ve seen pictures, obviously, but I know it’s not the same. Dean would like it. He’d make a crack about a ‘big hole,’ probably, but I’ve seen him when he sees something that’s_ actually _‘awesome.’ He gets this look on his face. …Yeah, the Grand Canyon would be good._

**Polaroid: a fond memory with your partner?**

SAM:  _(snort) The time he fell on his face in front of Molly Goldstein? Sorry, that probably doesn’t count. Honestly, there are—a lot. One that I think about a lot is Dean’s twenty-ninth birthday. That was the year after—the year after he made the deal. …That was a pretty bad time, but we—we had fun, that day. We were at this motel outside Kansas City and we split a twelve pack, watched the second Die Hard on TV. They had the version where they tried to dub over the curse words and Dean couldn’t stop laughing. Nothing special, you know. Just—we were kinda drunk, and having a good time, and Dean kept calling me Mr. Falcon, and it was like—everything was okay, for a while. It was good._

**Giggle: a cute quirk that your partner has?**

SAM:  _…I don’t know if I can answer this. Half the time I think he’s trying to drive me insane on purpose._ He _definitely thinks he’s cute. …Okay, fine, there’s one thing. He’s not a morning person, at all. When we’ve got to get somewhere he can get up and go, but if we get to sleep in—yeah, he’s in bed at least an hour longer than me. When he finally wakes up he kind of—rubs his eyes, with the back of his hands. Makes him look like a little kid. That’s cute. …If he ever finds out I said this he will give me so much crap._

*

**Giggle: a cute quirk that your partner has?**

SAM:  _I don’t think I’d describe Dean as cute, exactly._  
DEAN:  _Are you joking? I’m adorable._  
SAM: … _Right. My mistake._  
DEAN:  _Dude, you know it’s true._  
SAM:  _Okay, fine. Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine._  
DEAN:  _What are you, twelve?_  
SAM:  _You know that’s usually my line, right?_  
DEAN:  _…Fine. Okay. He, uh. He mumbles in his sleep, a lot, and if I can’t stand it anymore and elbow him he shuts up and then, like, cuddles into me like I’m a frickin’ teddy bear. You weigh a ton, by the way. …But, yeah. That.  
_ SAM:  _Aww._  
DEAN:  _Shut up. Anyway, it’s your turn. Put up or shut up._  
SAM:  _I like it when you laugh._  
DEAN _: That’s it? Dude, I laugh at you all the time_.  
SAM:  _Not that. When you like, really laugh, throw your head back, can’t stop, the whole nine. You put your hand over your stomach, like it hurts, and then you make this little sound—I don’t know, I can’t describe it. It’s cute. I like that._  
DEAN:  _Oh. Okay. Not bad, Sammy._

**Treat: dream dinner location + movie date?**

SAM:  _Well, this isn’t going to turn into an argument at all._  
DEAN:  _No, hey, I got one. You remember that little Italian place in Cooperstown?_  
SAM:  _Oh. Yeah, with the—_  
DEAN:  _Yeah, and that fruit and custard thing at the end, oh my god._  
SAM:  _Wow, good one._  
DEAN:  _See? I’m romantic._  
SAM:  _Uh-huh. Okay, but not an action movie again. And no Clint Eastwood!_  
DEAN:  _Fine, you pick, then. I picked the restaurant._  
SAM:  _Hm. How about—oh. Ha. Okay. True Lies._  
DEAN:  _Oh, good one. Jamie Lee Curtis was hot in that movie._  
SAM:  _I know. Might be fun to re-enact that scene._  
DEAN:  _…Oh. Uh, yeah. Maybe._

**Sunset: lively evening at a carnival in mid July or a lazy, serene evening on a beach in late August?**

(both, simultaneously):  
DEAN:  _Carnival._  / SAM:  _Beach._  
DEAN:  _Dude! Funnel cake!_  
SAM:  _Dude, little kids puking out of the tilt-a-whirl._  
DEAN:  _Okay, then, sand in your crack. It never comes out._  
SAM:  _This is why they invented blankets._  
DEAN:  _I’d win you a stuffed bear at the shooting range._  
SAM:  _I’d win_ myself _a stuffed bear at the shooting range._ (Dean scoffs.)  _How about this—a bottle of whiskey and the stars out with the tide coming in, and no one around to notice if we wrapped the blanket around our shoulders and—uh, enjoyed the evening._  
DEAN:  _…Not bad. But what about this: making out on top of the ferris wheel._  
SAM:  _What, like it’s seventh grade again? …Eh, maybe both._  
DEAN:  _Both is good. I’m totally winning the bear, though._

**Borrowed sweater: would you ever get matching clothes/jewelry/etc with your partner?**

(both look at each other)  
DEAN:  _I mean—_  
SAM:  _Yeah, we did that already_.  
DEAN:  _Anyway, matching tattoos are useful. I don’t wanna wear Sammy’s godawful shirts._  
SAM:  _We both wear plaid, Dean._  
DEAN:  _Some of us have better taste in plaid than others, that’s all I’m saying._

*

**Love letter: dream travel destination for you and your partner?**

SAM:  _Hm. Well, other than the Grand Canyon? I always thought it would be cool to see the town of Winchester, in the U.K. I looked it up, once. It’s where our name comes from. Plus, now that we know about our grandfather and the Men of Letters, it wouldn’t surprise me if the family came directly from there. I’d like to see it. Of course, getting Dean there would be a problem—he almost had a heart attack on the flight to Scotland. Maybe I could convince him with the Round Table at Winchester Castle. He always liked the King Arthur stories, when we were kids, even if he pretended they were just for me._

**Cologne: a scent that reminds you of your partner?**

SAM:  _Coffee. I know, that’s probably kind of basic, right? It’s true, though. Ever since I was little, it was just—part of the life. Dean would use the little coffee pots in the motels to make the worst coffee in the world, and Dad would usually drink the whole pot before the day started, but Dean would let me have some before it was all gone. Then, when we were older—getting coffee at gas stations, and diners. Even when I was at Stanford, doing the whole—you know, college kid studying in the coffee shop thing. I’d be sitting there with my books and a latte, and before I could even take a sip that smell would hit me and I’d think,_ Dean would hate this _. He always drinks it black, always has. I usually make it in the morning, now, and sometimes—if he’s lucky—I’ll bring him a cup in bed. His coffee is better, though. …Don’t tell him I said that._

**Giggle: a cute quirk that your partner has?**

DEAN:  _He’s not_ cute _, he’s a pain in the ass. But, uh. I mean, I don’t talk about this stuff. But when he’s reading something—not for a hunt, could just be a regular book when he gets the chance—and he gets really into it, he gets this little wrinkle between his eyebrows, but he sometimes gets this little smile, too. Always loved reading, ever since he was a little kid. I usually throw something at him if he’s been sucked up in it too long, and then he sure as hell ain’t smiling anymore, but hey, that’s my job, right? Before that, though—that smile? Yeah._

**Water: a candlelit bath together with bubbles/a bath bomb or a relaxing side by side on lounge floats in bright turquoise pool?**

DEAN:  _What the hell. Are those the only options? I guess I gotta pick pool. The bathtub that fits both me and Gigantor would practically be a pool anyway, but I sure as hell am not lighting candles for my little brother. I’ve seen those floating lounge chair things, though, they’re pretty cool. We could get a floating cooler and a six pack, and maybe Sammy would just relax for a minute. He looks good with a tan. …Aw, crap. I’m gonna get a huge sunburn. But, hey, I could get Sammy to put sunblock on me._

*

**Cologne: a scent that reminds you of your partner?**

DEAN:  _Oh—that laundry detergent he makes me buy. He got some rash when he was a teenager and we figured out that it was because of the soap, and so then we could only use this specific ‘unscented’ crap. Even when—even during the time he was at Stanford, I still bought that kind, just because—I don’t know, I was used to it, I guess. Clothes didn’t smell right, otherwise. I pretty much always do the laundry now—he always forgets the stuff in the washing machine because he’s reading something, and then it gets all—ech. It’s not really unscented, I don’t know why they pretend like it is. I recognize it anywhere, just like_ (snaps fingers) _that._

**Teddy bear: little spoon or big spoon?**

DEAN:  _…Did Sam put you up to this? God. Okay. I mean—look, he’s gigantic, okay. I’ve big-spooned him a few times, and he doesn’t mind or anything, but it makes me feel like a jetpack. Anyway, he—I don’t know. I mean, we move around a lot, so it’s not like we’re ‘in each other’s arms all night’ or anything. But he likes to get up close, when we’re falling asleep. Puts his arm around my waist. He’s like a thousand degrees, so if it’s cold I don’t mind. But it’s—it’s okay, I guess. Feels good that he’s—right there._

**Giggle: a cute quirk that your partner has?**

DEAN:  _Okay, you know what, I’ve almost had enough of this sappy—okay, here’s a thing he does, that I know he doesn’t know about. When some chick is hitting on him and he doesn’t think she’s hot? He gets this dorky little ‘oh no’ expression on his face, and he always smiles at the lady—he’s not an asshole, I taught him how to treat girls right—but then he gives me this panicked look, like, ‘save me!’, and that shit is_ hilarious _. Kinda cute, I guess, but mainly just funny. Cougars love Sammy._

*

**Honeyglow: do you blush/get flustered around your partner?**

(Dean grins)  
SAM:  _No._  
DEAN:  _You totally do._  
SAM:  _As if!_  
DEAN:  _Dude, what? No one has said ‘as if’ in like fifteen years._  
SAM:  _So—you—okay, you know what, we’re doing this separately_.  
DEAN:  _Wuss! Okay, how about this? We answer for each other, too._  
SAM:  _Fine. We’re still doing it separately._

—

DEAN:  _He totally, totally does. Don’t let him feed you any crap, he_ so _does. He likes my mouth, and my ass. Hey, who can blame him. It’s a great ass. For me—I mean,_ flustered _probably isn’t the right word, but. When he’s turned on he’ll do this thing where—god, saying it like this, it sounds dumb. He just watches me, and then when I catch him doing it, he doesn’t stop. That gets me kinda—because I know he’s thinking about it, you know, even if we’re in the middle of the interstate or in a diner or something. He’s told me about some of the stuff he thinks about doing, even when we’re in public, and I know I’ve turned red. He’s not nearly as good-mannered, ‘aw shucks’ Sammy as he pretends to be, let’s just say that._

_—_

SAM:  _Okay, yeah. I do. Usually the stuff he thinks is sexy is just dumb. And the pick-up lines, god. But he’s—even after all these years, just… the way he moves, sometimes. The way he licks his lips when he’s thinking, or his shoulders when he’s working. When he wears—well. That’s—private, but it makes me feel like the top of my head’s gonna come off. But he’s so easy, too. If he’s trying to say he doesn’t blush he’s lying his ass off—because I can watch it happen. His skin’s pale enough for it. As soon as I tell him what I want to do, he starts going all pink. Sometimes it’s something else, though, and I don’t know what does it. I don’t think it’s looks—I mean, I’m always wearing the same stuff, same haircut. But sometimes even if he’s—if we’re kissing, sometimes he’ll pull back and he’ll look at me and he’ll flush this deep red, and I’ve never asked why. I figure it’s good to have some secrets, you know? But—sometimes I wish I had video of it. It’s… good._

*

**Theater: movie/show/production that reminds you of your partner?**

DEAN:  _Our Town_.  
SAM:  _Dude, come on, I was fifteen._  
DEAN:  _You were_ adorable _._  
SAM:  _Ugh. Okay, seriously. For you… First Blood._  
DEAN:  _Rambo? Nice, Sammy!_  
SAM:  _Ha, yeah. Probably not for the reasons you’re thinking, but—yeah._  
DEAN:  _…Okay, weirdo. All right, real one for you. Stand By Me._  
SAM:  _What? Why?_  
DEAN:  _I don’t know. The kid who’s the main character, the one who ended up being Wesley Crusher. Just reminded me of you. Though sometimes you were Teddy, too._  
SAM:  _Huh. Could be worse. I always thought of you as Chris. You know his character was supposed to be a lawyer?_  
DEAN:  _I think I take offense to that._  
SAM:  _Yeah, yeah._

**Mountain dew: waking up early to make breakfast together or sleeping in and going out for late all-day brunch?**

SAM:  _Okay, well, I know what you’re going to pick._  
DEAN:  _Look, there is no reason to wake up before nine a.m. unless there’s something worth doing, and breakfast ain’t enough._  
SAM:  _Am I allowed to go for a run before this all-day brunch?_  
DEAN:  _No. You’ve gotta stay in bed, and maybe we’ll—get up to some stuff, and then we’re going to get up at like ten and go to that place—you remember, in Santa Fe? Amazing bloody mary there._  
SAM:  _At least that kind of counts as a vegetable._  
DEAN:  _If there’s vodka involved, I’ll take it._  
SAM:  _I feel like if I have to carry you out after you eat your weight in bacon and eggs this is going to be less fun for me._  
DEAN:  _We’ll just order you another bloody mary, it’ll be fine._

*

**Polaroid: a fond memory with your partner?**

DEAN:  _Oh, I got one. First time I let Sammy get drunk. Well—okay, so actually I’d tried to get him to drink with me a little when he was younger, but he was always a good kid. Just before his eighteenth birthday, though, we split most of a bottle of this really terrible whiskey I got for like ten bucks, and he was so wasted, and he just—he was really happy. He’d been kind of shitty all that year, always fighting with Dad, and fighting with me, too. Didn’t know until later that he was hiding something else. I was kinda mad, later, but now—he just kept laughing, at such stupid stuff. We watched… I don’t even remember, now. Some comedy movie that was going around on cable, we’d both seen it a bunch of times before. We were sitting on his bed and something caught him funny, and he laughed so hard he snorted whiskey out of his nose, and I just…_ (clears throat)  _He’s a funny drunk.  
_ —  
SAM:  _Once, that first year after—after Stanford. I was still pretty mixed up, a lot of the time. Dean caught a gash on the back of his shoulder from a fight with a ghost. No big deal, but it needed some stitches and he couldn’t do it himself, so I fixed it up. It was a good fight—we wrapped the case up pretty easily, and no one died once we came to town—and we were both feeling pretty good, despite everything. Dean kept making fun of my nursing skills, wasn’t even flinching, and once I finally got done and taped the bandage over the top I kissed him to shut him up. It was the first time we’d kissed, in a long time, and he was so surprised he bit my lip. Immediately started falling all over himself, apologizing, until I kissed him again. I’d missed it, didn’t even realize how much. He said, and I quote, “So, poking me with needles is what gets you horny now?” Idiot._

**Morning dew: waking up early to make breakfast together or sleeping in and going out for late all-day brunch?**

DEAN:  _…Okay, no. I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t have to choose. I want to sleep in, and then I want to make my own damn breakfast. Sam can make the toast, and I’ll let him take care of juice and stuff, and I can kick him if he burns the bacon. But we’re having my coffee, and I’m on the eggs. He always screws them up somehow. I don’t mind brunch—it’s breakfast plus alcohol, what’s not to like about that—but we got our own kitchen, now. If we get a day off? I want to hang out at home. Plus, who wants to sit at a restaurant all day. If we’re here, we can just go right back to bed._

**Water: a candlelit bath together with bubbles/a bath bomb or a relaxing side by side on lounge floats in bright turquoise pool?**

SAM:  _Oh. The bath. Dean always gets sunburned when he goes swimming and then I have to hear him complain about peeling for the next week. But—I mean, he’d roll his eyes at the candles, and I don’t know if I could actually get away with bubbles. Maybe just a little, to be slick. But—if we got a big enough tub, for the both of us, that’d be… that’d be good. His skin looks good in candlelight. I’d probably have to bribe him somehow to even get him in the room—I don’t know, promise not to make fun of his tapes for a week or something—but once we were in the water, sitting chest-to-back… Yeah, he’d like it. And he’s—well, he looks good when he’s relaxed._


End file.
